


The Cartographer

by phantomofthehoepera



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cartographer!Jack, Gen, mentions of asylum nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomofthehoepera/pseuds/phantomofthehoepera
Summary: In which Cutler Beckett needs an errand run, a noble lady has turned up missing and Jonatan Teague has never sailed a day in his life.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	The Cartographer

Bethlem Royal Hospital was a distasteful place, Lord Cutler Beckett couldn’t help but think as he walked through its halls. The guard leading him- a tall, quiet man by the name of Johansen- didn’t seem bothered by the smells and sounds coming from behind the closed doors they passed, but he must be used to it by now. Although how he could choose to stay long enough to get used to it was a mystery. 

Another guard passed them, a man and a woman Beckett thought he recognized from a party in tow. The two were whispering amongst themselves, the lady occasionally yelping in delighted terror at a particularly loud noise and Beckett had to resist the urge to roll his eyes, instead nodding politely to the two visitors as he passed them. It was almost laughable that two otherwise upstanding citizens would spend their money on something so vulgar, but Beckett did have to be thankful for it, he supposed. He would rather like to avoid being asked why he was here, after all, and even though he’d been promised that his visit would be off the books, he knew people tended to talk. 

Johansen turned a corner and Beckett followed. The two of them were now in a shorter corridor, at the end of which was a single door, which Johansen made for and opened, letting Beckett step inside. The room was small, containing only a table and two chairs, bathed in daylight slipping in through a narrow window. Opposite the door Beckett and Johansen had come from was yet another door, this one with a sturdy lock. Johansen stepped past beckett, and started going through a set of keys, finally finding the right one and unlocking the door. 

”I’ll be back in a moment, sir.” Johansen nodded to the chairs. ”Feel free to have a seat while you wait.” 

Beckett did not, instead choosing to remain standing as Johansen closed the door. The lock clicked as he turned the key, and Beckett thought he could hear the faint steps of his footsteps as he walked further into the building. 

Assuming that it would be a tad more than a moment before Johansen was back, Beckett opted to turn to the window, looking out at the yard below. ’A palace for lunatics’, he’d heard the still fairly new asylum being described as and it certainly looked the part. The building was remarkably clean, at least on the outside, and one of the largest buildings Beckett had ever seen. And mind, that was in comparison to some truly extravagant mansions. 

He did see the need, of course. With how many paupers he’d see on the streets daily, mumbling to themselves and hardly the shadow of of a person they might have once been, their filthy hands outstretched and begging for the slightest scraps. Beckett knew not to bother. He’d seen enough of them go straight from the street corner to the closest gambling hall to know that charity would be wasted. Throwing his coin in a lake would bring about more change…

His thoughts were cut off as the door opened, and he turned around to see Johansen returning to the room, guiding a scrawny man through the door with him. He greeted Beckett with a nod, then shoved the man towards one of the chairs. 

”Sit down, and don’t move,” he ordered, then leaned in closer to the man, adding a threatening ”No funny business this time.” 

”That’s alright, mr Johansen,” Beckett cut in and Johansen looked up, mumbling a ”Sorry, sir.”

”I was told I’d be allowed to speak with him in private,” Beckett continued. ”So if you’ll excuse me.” 

Johansen hesitated for a moment. Perhaps he’d not been informed of the agreement, or he simply didn’t approve of it, but whatever the case his feelings weren’t strong enough to argue. He just nodded again, then made for the room’s first door and exited, locking it behind himself. 

Beckett gave it a moment before he spoke, letting the silence hang in the air. He regarded the man, waiting for him to make any kind of sound, to reveal the lunacy that had put him here. But he was silent, and for the most part motionless. His eyes darted around the room, and Beckett caught him tapping a finger lightly against his own knee. The longer the silence went on for, the more noticeable the drumming got, until the man finally had to clench his fist to stop it from moving. 

Fascinating, Beckett thought, as the man’s other hand soon began to move in a similar fashion. 

”They told me you didn’t speak,” Beckett finally said. ”But you understand me, do you not?” 

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly and he gave a quick, hesitant nod. 

”Very good. That is all I need.” Beckett reached into his coat pocket, retrieving the small graphite pencil and scrap paper he’d seen fit enough to spare for this endeavor. Then, he sat down in the chair opposite the man and slid the items across the table towards him. 

”I’ve been told that you’re a cartographer,” he began, as the man picked up the pencil. ”But I would like to see for myself. So, if you would be so kind as to provide me with an example.” 

The man looked hesitant. He rolled the pen between his fingers absentmindedly, studying the paper for quite some time and Beckett half thought he was about to fall asleep, when he suddenly sprang into action. Quickly, and with all trace of hesitation gone from his movements he started drawing the outlines of a park, if Beckett wasn’t mistaken. He repeatedly put his left pinky to the paper, seemingly using that to measure his pencil strokes in the absence of proper equipment, and soon he put the graphite down, sliding the paper back across the table. Beckett picked it up and studied it, noting that although the lines were a bit crude, it was a rather detailed map. 

”And what is this supposed to be?” Beckett asked, making a move to hand the paper back to the man so that he could write the answer out. However, to his surprise, the man spoke his answer out loud. 

”Hospital grounds.” His voice was raspy, no doubt from not being used for long. ”You can try it for yourself. I guarantee it won’t get you lost.”

”So you do talk,” Beckett couldn’t help but say, and apparently the man found that amusing, because he cracked a slight smile. 

”I don’t make a habit of it,” His face fell again. ”Best to keep one’s tongue in check here, I’ve found.” 

”I see.” Beckett nodded, then shifted his focus back to the map. ”When was the last time you saw the grounds?” 

”Doctor had me get some fresh air a week ago, I believe.” The man’s brows furrowed as he thought. ”Perhaps a week and a half.” 

If that were the case, and the man could map out areas he hadn’t seen for so long with at least some amount of accuracy, then that certainly would mean Beckett had been lucky. It was optimistic, perhaps, to assume that these observational skills stretched beyond the field of cartography, but Beckett figured he could afford himself some optimism. 

”And do you usually note your surroundings with such detail?” he asked and the man shook his head. 

”Only if I have a need for it.”

”And what need would this serve?” Beckett raised the map slightly. ”Planning an escape are we?” 

The man’s face didn’t reveal anything, but his silence said enough, and Beckett couldn’t help but smirk. He folded the map up and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket, then held his hand out, wordlessly ordering the graphite back. 

”I think I have a preferable alternative,” he said as the man handed him the pencil. ”One that would let you leave this place as a free man, not a fugitive.” 

”And you’ve the means to accomplish that?” 

”Would I be here if I didn’t?” Beckett gave a slight smile ”Allow me to introduce myself. Lord Cutler Beckett, head of the East India Trading Company.” 

The man froze for a moment, looking baffled at the revelation, then slowly returned the smile and stretched out his hand. Noting how dirty it was, Beckett was hesitant at first but finally shook it, as the man spoke. 

”Jonathan Teague,” The man said ”Or just call me Jack.” 

**Author's Note:**

> First time I've started a project like this in a while so hopefully I can keep my momentum and like. write more of it.   
> Comments are always appreciated, they literally make my day and also provide me with the motivation needed to keep going for more chapters


End file.
